My Diary And Or Journal of Me: PostPulse
by Victoria Starr
Summary: See, this is what happens when civilization is destroyed. An overwrought teen, like ME, is forced to compose a skewed account of an unbelievable event. I guess cell phones really ARE bad for your health ...
1. Is This a Diary? Or a Journal? Gah

**A/N: I like reading about what other people would do in situations like these, so I figured I'd write one myself. It's not like I'd actually **_**survive**_** one of these things, oh no. I'd be the first one dead, probably. Well, maybe not. I ****dunno.**

**Ack****, so random.**

**I DO know that if I were to survive and write the events down, this is what they would be like. ****Because I'm cool like that.**** ;) Don't hate, appreciate!**

**Um, the names are in no way affiliated with real people, I don't own Cell, ****mmm**** what else did I miss? Oh yeah, sometimes the chapters (like this one) will be written in diary/journal form, ****othertimes**** (like the next one) it will be written in … you know … real life form. Well before I write more in the A/N than in the first chapter, I present to you – my version of Cell!**

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_So here I am, Diary. Or do you wish to be called Journal?__ I guess diaries are for little kids.__Whatever.__ I'm hiding in my closet, writing this down__ with the light from an old flashlight__. Which __is nearly dead - scratch that, __needs new batteries. __Heh__, bad choice of words.__ God, how did I get here? It seems like just yesterday that everything wa__s fine, Mom and Dad and the kids__ and all my friends were alive._

_Oh, wait. It _was_ only yesterday. __Heh_

_Maybe I mean that it seems like a million years ago since they were al__ive? Hang on. Most of them _are_ alive. Should I scribble out what I already wrote? Nah, I'm too lazy. Anyway(s?), I do__n't have the time. __Let's just get on with it. I have nothing better to do, and I don't dare leave the closet, so it's either play Monopoly with __my__self__ or write down what happened. As if I really believe that someone's going to be alive to read it. Oh well._

_It happened after school. A bunch of us from sixth period decided t__o stay after to help Mrs. Stewart__ with the yearbook layout. __There was me, __Ash, __Bri__, Ryan__, and -_

_Wait, if someone'sgonna read this, then shouldn't I write who I am first? Well, my name is Emma - Emily Tate. Yes, I'm aware of the whole Emma Tate/imitate joke. It's old, I'm not in the mood, and the world is all screwed up – so don't say it. I'm - I mean, _was_, a senior at Gulf High School. Sixteen years old. Yeah, a teenager. Kind of random. Anyway, when it started, we didn't even know. For awhile, at least. There was me, my best bud Ashley Peterson, a girl named Brianna Phillips, a guy named Ryan Cooper, and MoleMan_

_Ugh, I mean Bobby __Bradfod__. See, we call him __MoleMan__ because he's got this humongous mole smack dab above his eye.__ I mean, this thing is gigantic.__ And he's a freak. One time he stabbed himself with a knife, just to see how it felt! Then he showed us the scar. See? A freak, I'm telling__ you_

_FOCUS EMMA__ FOCUS!! Sorry, I've got a short attention span. Well, not usually, but then again, what happened earlier doesn't usually happen. Actually, it never has. So shouldn't I be able to act a bit odd? I think yes. And, just to be spiteful, I'm __gonna__ be a comma-__whore. You're MY __diary,__ I'll do whatever the __hell I want with you. I mean, journal. Good Lord, I must be going cra__zy. Here I am arguing with my diary - journal - and it hasn't even been two days since everything went to hell__Gah.__ Whoever reads this, I apologize beforehand. I'm not thinking too clearly – _and _I'm a teenager. Not a good combo._

_ANYWAY, like I said, it happened after school but we didn't know about it until __Bri__ went to the bathroom__ and came back a few minutes later in hysterics. We couldn't _believe _th__e things__ she was saying …_


	2. Bye Bye Mr Baxter

**A/N: Sorry it took so long, I didn't think anyone would actually read my story. If there are grammatical errors, it's because that's the way I want the character to sound. That's actually how I sound in real life - I drop my g's at the end of some words. I guess I've lived in Florida for too long. **

**I don't think this chapter has the humorous tone that I want to convey, but that's just because it's still the beginning of the story. Please read and review. Also, if you liked it, there is an almost-exactly-alike-but-not-quite story on FictionPress under the same author name. I just switched it up a bit to avoid copyright issues. :)**

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"OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!"

We all jerked, startled. We had pushed the desks into a rough circle and were having a pretty lively discussion about senior superlatives (I _still_ say the 'Most Likely To Be On America's Dumbest Criminals' should have been included) when Bri staggered in the classroom and slammed the door. She had left a few minutes earlier to go to the bathroom.

"Whew, girl, you are _loud_," I said. It was true, too. Bri was famous for her screechy voice. And one time she cussed out a teacher, ooh! People claimed to hear her on the other side of the building.

But this time, something seemed to be wrong. She was bent over gasping for breath and making these funny whimpering noises. "Brianna? What's wrong?" Mrs. Miller inquired, concerned. "These … two middle-schoolers were fightin' … in the bathroom," Bri panted. "When I … walked in … they both tried to jump me!" Ash, Ryan, and I all looked at each other, then cracked up laughing. I mean, come on, someone tried to jump _Bri_? Brianna Phillips? They might as well have walked around holding a sign that said, _Beat me up_. "It's not funny!" Bri yelled, startling us. "There was blood everywhere, they were crazy! They chased me all the way down the damn hall! And I think one of 'em - "

BOOM. Something crashed up against the door. We looked up and saw the two girls that had attacked Bri. Whoa. Their fingers were covered in blood, scrabbling at the window. Their mouths were working furiously, but we couldn't hear what they were saying. "See!" Bri yelled. "There they are!" Mrs. Miller ran over to the intercom button and pushed it. _Beep._ Nothing happened. She frowned, and pushed it again. _Beep_. "Where's Ms. Newman? Why isn't she answering?" Ms. Newman was the woman who worked in the front office. I'm not sure exactly what she does, but it's kind of like secretarial work. I think. Anyway, she handled the intercom. Well, she was _supposed_ to. _Someone_ wasn't doing her job. And they complain about _us_ being lazy. Not cool.

Meanwhile, we had all crowded around the door. Now we could hear the faint cries of what sounded like, well, nonsense. The girl closest to the window was short and black. "Booh-gah-lah!" she hollered. "Hambalooh!" I turned to the other girl (white, this one) and, with a swoop in my stomach, realized who she was. Well not _exactly_, not like her name or anything, but I'd seen her around. "Hey!" I exclaimed. "Isn't that the little middle school girl that walks around with dark lipstick on and makeup all the way up to her eyebrows?" And sure enough, I could see what looked like sky-blue eyeshadow – to match her sky-blue shirt – all over the place. Honestly, who would let their kid go out looking like that? Well, right now there was blood on her face as well as makeup. And her lip was kind of … _hanging_. "Eughhh," said Ash, wrinkling her nose. "What's wrong with her mouth?" MoleMan tried to push his way to the front. "Don't push me!" Bri shouted. "I didn't!" he said defensively. "I just want to see!" I moved away. He was a little too close for comfort anyways, and he smelled funny.

"Where in the world is Ms. Newman?!" our teacher said exasperatedly. Ryan backed away from the window. "Don't worry, I'll go get Mr. Baxter." Mr. Baxter was the math teacher who taught next door. His classroom was connected to Mrs. Miller's. He was older, but still pretty cool. He had served in the army, or the Navy, or the Marines – one of them. I don't remember which. But he said stuff like "negative" and "standby". Ash nodded. "Yeah, there ya go. Ooh, I'd hate to be those two when he gets a hold of 'em. Gosh, Bri, what did you _do _to them?" Bri scowled. "Nothin'! I just walked in, mindin' my own business, when I seen them two psycho brats goin' at it like two pitbulls in a dogfight!" MoleMan snorted. "Not likely. Obviously you said _something_. People don't just attack other people for no reason." Bri spun around. "Ya know what, MoleMan?" At this, his face flushed. "You need to just shut your mouth, boy! No one wants to hear the shit comin' out of it anyway!" Ouch. Harsh. But true.

Suddenly, Ryan and Mr. Baxter burst in through the door. "Where are they?!" the ex-something demanded. You know, he's a cool teacher and all but I still wouldn't want him to ever be glaring at me like that. We pointed. He rushed over and opened the door. "_You scum-sucking maggots! This is a _school_, not a bar!" _He grabbed the black girl with one hand and the other girl with the other hand and forced them apart. It wasn't hard. "Jesus!" he exclaimed, finally catching sight of their faces. "What the hell got into you-" He was cut off as the small, preppy-but-slutty white girl twisted her head around and sank her pointy teeth into his arm. "_OW_!" he roared, pushing her away. She stumbled backwards and fell. Then she dove for his ankles. We could see his arm was bleeding pretty badly as he bent down to lift her up to her feet. As he was bending, though, the black girl leaned forward. For a crazy second there, I thought she meant to _kiss _him, and I was thinking, _Holy shit, the school's gonna be talking about this for weeks, and I got a front row seat! _But when Mr. Baxter began screaming in agony and let go of the white girl to push the black girl hanging off his face away, I decided that, forget the school, this junk right here was gonna be all over the TV. The girl finally backed off and we could see her chewing on – oh my God, was that his eye?! Was it? Mr. Baxter had fallen to the floor and was holding his face, shrieking in a disappointingly girly way.

Ash and Bri were screaming, and Ryan was shouting. He tried to run out the door to help Mr. Baxter, but Mrs. Miller grabbed him. "No!" she said sharply. "Mr. Baxter can take care of himself. There's something seriously wrong with these girls." Well, no duh. Glad to see someone's paying attention. "Shut the door, I'll call the police," she continued. Reluctantly, we did as she said. She quickly locked the door and ran back to the intercom. _Beep. _Thirty second wait. _Beep. _Thirty second wait. _Beep. _"Yeah, I don't think that's working, Mrs. Miller," I said cautiously. "I can see that!" she snapped. Well, gosh, she didn't have to get smart with me. _She _was the one who was just standing there pushing a little button like an idiot. I threw her a dirty look. "Well, don't you think you ought to call 911?" Mrs. Miller ran over to her desk and rummaged through the drawers frantically. "Where's my purse, where's my purse," she muttered under her breath. "HURRY, THEY'RE _EATING _HIM!" Bri screamed. I'll tell you what, I got over there in a hurry. There was no way I was missing that. I could just see the headlines – "Teens watch in horror as teacher is devoured in front of them". Okay, the title could use some work, but …

Finally Mrs. Miller pulled out her cell phone. "I got it!" she cried. She bent her head over as she pressed the numbers. "9 … 1 … 1." She stuck the phone to her ear. "Hello? We need-" She stopped. And didn't say anything. "Uh, hello Mrs. Miller? Remember, little middle school girls eating Mr. Baxter?" She slowly looked up at me. Uh oh. Why was she staring at me like that? "Hey, um, I was just kidding," I said hesitantly, fearing for my grade. Sure, I had an A in the class but that's what I _needed _to have. But as I watched her, her eyes narrowed and her nose scrunched up. She bared her teeth at me, and I choked back a laugh. I'm tellin' you, I have never seen such a ridiculous looking face in my entire life. "Mrs. Miller?"

She let out a snarl, dropped the phone, and rushed toward me. Well, _gosh_, it's not my fault she can't handle a little criticism. It WAS just a joke …


	3. So Long Mrs Stewart

**A/N: Hey, lookee what I got here! Chapter 3 to PostPulse. Special thanks to Kar-zid for the very first reviews! Whooo! You have won ... a BRAND NEW CAR!!!! **

**Not. :D**

**Anyway, listen up everyone. I made a mistake (shocking) in the 2nd chapter. For some odd reason I wrote the story as the teacher being Mrs. Miller. Well, in the 1rst chapter, the teacher's name was Mrs. Stewart. Funny thing is, MY 6th period teacher in real life is Mrs. Miller, haha. I just wasn't thinking clearly. I don't have the time or energy to go back and correct it right now, but the teacher's name is Mrs. Stewart okay? Heh.**

**This chapter is awfully short but hey, don't hate, appreciate.**

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_There are some vocalizations that, no matter how good a writer you are, nor how hard you try, cannot be written down. The letters simply do not exist. But me, being the stubborn mule that I am, tried to think up a way during the four seconds in which Mrs. Stewart ran towards me. The babble sounded a bit like,_ Galsedijofoirwhugterf. _Expressed_ _phonetically (and slowly), it sounded like,_ Gahl-sed-dee-jah-for-wug-terf. _I probably should have moved out of her way, or put my hands up to defend myself, or _something_ for God's sake, instead of just standing there staring at her with my mouth gaping, but I'm a bit slow. I mean, come on – who expects their nice, pretty yearbook teacher to start spouting nonsense and speeding toward you like a banshee?_

_Anyway, I've been wasting too much time talking about the particulars. It doesn't really matter what happened at the beginning. What matters is what's going to happen. I've thought long and hard about it, and there are a ton of problems that I have. Like, what the hell am_ I_ gonna do? I can't care for myself! I'm only 16! Okay, maybe that sounds a bit selfish, but I really don't care._

_Oh yeah, I forgot to mention what happened. Well, obviously I'm _alive_. Noooo, I'm the world's first literary zombie writer. Anyhow, Mrs. Stewart rushed at me. She was scary, too. Her eyes were wide and she had drool all down the side of her mouth. It was gross. Then Ryan sprang to action (I've always wanted to say that) and leaped forward. He knocked a desk into her path and she tripped over it and fell down. Hard. Then Ryan and Ash and Bri and MoleMan and I all ran to Mr. Baxter's room. I'll tell you what, we slammed that door shut too. We must've sat there for an hour or so, just debating over what to do. Of course we tried the intercom again but it didn't work. Bri wanted to use someone's cell phone to call for help, but Moleman wouldn't let her. He came up with this weird-ass theory about how it was the phones, the damn cell phones. I didn't believe him then and I'm still not sure what I believe now. In any case, we finally decided to get out of the room and go exploring. The two little middle school girls had been long gone, but we could still hear Mrs. Stewart shuffling around in her room. It was strange. We called out to her a few times but every time she heard our voices, she would start banging on the door and snarling and junk. Then a few seconds later she would stop and go back to the shuffling. It was like she forgot we were there._

_Wow, I never thought that being crouched in a small closet with zombies or whatever outside would make me feel tired, but I'm exhausted. I didn't get much sleep last night. Not after what happened to the kids. Well, I don't want to get ahead of myself. And this weak light is making my eyes hurt. I'll finish writing what happened tomorrow._

_Good night, sleep tight, don't let the zombies bite._


	4. MoleMan's Murder? We're just teens gosh

**A/N: This chapter may be a bit confusing. The beginning is written in 'current time', as in what's happening _right now_. The second part is written in the form of a diary, and the third part is written as more of a memory. **

**Also - I found out that Karz-id has no use for a car. In which case ahem YOU HAVE WON A BRAND NEW BLENDER:D**

**Have fun reading, everyone, and don't forget to review.**

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Why was I laying on the ground? Where –

Oh wait. Oh yeah.

I sat up and carefully stretched. I had to pee so bad, it wasn't even funny.I slo-o-o-owly twisted the doorknob, opened the closet door, and peeked out. Nope, no whaddyacallems. Thank God.

I walked into my small bedroom and sat down on the bed. Last night I had sat on my bed and started writing, but I freaked out when I heard shuffling outside the window. The moon was shining through the blinds and it had thrown shadows everywhere. So I had crept into the closet with a pillow and a thin blanket.

Now to search the hallway. I opened my bedroom door with the same caution as that of the closet door and peered out. I didn't see anything … except for a splotch of what looked like blood on the floor. But it might not have been blood. It was a dark reddish brownish color. Kind of looked like the time my sister ran around the house without a diaper on and crapped all over the place. That wasn't fun to clean up.

I snuck into the bathroom and relieved myself. I tried to flush the toilet – habit, mostly – but nothing happened. I shrugged. Oh well.

Feeling more confident, I quickly searched the rest of the house. I didn't find anything. Well, anything that had nails and teeth and a bad temper anyway.

From the kitchen I grabbed some crackers and a bottle of water from the fridge. Ew. The water was warm.

I hurried back up to my room. I know it's silly but for some reason I felt safe there, as if nothing could happen. I retrieved my diary - _JOURNAL_, my mind protested – and got a new pencil. Then I turned the page and began writing.

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_Okay, I'm back. I checked the house and there was nothing in it._ _Lucky me. _

_So I should probably tell you about the elementary school – no, wait. First I'll tell you about how we got to the elementary school. That way you'll understand why we didn't just go somewhere safe when it all started._

_So where was I? Oh yeah, Mrs. Stewart was dialing 9-1-1. Then she dropped the phone and went crazy. I think she actually would've bit me if she could have. But she tripped and we ran through the connecting door to Mr. Baxter's room._

_Almost didn't make it, either._

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"Shut the door, shut the door!"

"I'm trying, I can't – "

"Hurry, before she - !"

_Bam_. The long fingers that had been scrabbling at the door finally receded back into the classroom, and we were able to slam the door shut. Mrs. Stewart let out a cry and began to bang on the door like a maniac.

But the door was heavy and made of wood. No way she was getting' through. It's all good.

"Okay, what was _that_ all about?!" Bri demanded.

I shook my head in disbelief. "Did you see that?! She attacked me! She a_ttacked _me! Oh, she's so goin' to jail." My stepdad's a lawyer.

"Okay, okay, let's just all calm down," Ryan said quickly. "Think. What do we do now?"

Ash pulled out her purple cell phone. She loved all things purple. She said, "I'm calling the poli-"

"NO!"

We all looked over, startled, as MoleMan leapt forward and knocked the phone out of her hand.

"Dude, what the hell is wrong with you?!" Ash snarled at him, bending over to pick her phone up. But before she could, he _stomped_ on it – and it shattered into a hundred pieces.

Ash howled like a wolf. "YOU LITTLE BASTARD! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

Since I had known her for, oh, I dunno, a good ten years, I knew that she wasn't one to make light threats. I almost didn't stop her – I mean, that was a four hundred dollar phone – but in the end my conscience won. Plus I didn't want another dead body in the room.

"Ash! Cool down, girl!" I grabbed her by the shoulder and tugged her back.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute! Listen to me!" Moleman squealed, holding his hands out in front of him to ward her off. "Just listen! Didn't you notice that when Mrs. Stewart put the phone up to her ear she went crazy?"

We all stared at him. He said quickly, "I think it's the cell phones. Or maybe _all_ the phones, I don't know, but whatever it is, it isn't good."

Ryan spoke up. "I don't know what's going on here but I want to call the cops and my mom. In that order."

MoleMan shook his head frantically. "No! You'll end up like Mrs. Stewart! Like those middle-schoolers!"

I wasn't sure I believed him – I mean, come _on_. Killer phones? Sounds like a bad Sci-Fi channel movie. But I did know that tough Mr. Baxter had been taken down by two short girls, and that Mrs. Stewart had tried to kill me. Or she wanted to, at least.

"Okay," I said calmy. That was the key thing, you see. Gotta keep everyone calm. Calm as a palm, as my grandma used to say. Palm meaning palm tree, of course. Yeah I didn't get it either.

"Okay," I repeated. "Ryan's right. Well, not about the mom part but about the cops. One of us should real quick-like run up to the front office and tell them what happened. I vote Bobby."

MoleMan gave me a dirty look. "What?" I asked innocently. "All you have to do is dodge past the middle school girls out there, run through the hallways, make sure no one else like them get you, and make it up to the office. And if there's no one there, then just come back."

Everyone was quiet. Then Bri said, "Yeah, that sounds good."

Ash shrugged. "Fine by me."

"Sounds like a plan," Ryan agreed.

I beamed at MoleMan. "Great! It's settled. Let's go!"

We picked him up and he shrieked and twisted, trying to make us let go. We dragged him to the door and threw him out in the hallway, and quickly shut the door in his face.

"Guys, let me back in!" he whined. "This isn't funny! They're _right there_!"

"Go on," I called through the thick door. "Go to the front office and tell them what's happening! Don't be a baby."

We heard him shriek again – I guess the middle schoolers had spotted him – and he banged on the door harder than ever.

"Dude!" Bri yelled. "You better frickin' run or you're gonna get eaten, dumbass!"

He must've taken her advice because his screams grew fainter, as did the snarling of the middle school girls.

"Well," Ash said happily. "I feel better."


	5. RIP Ryan and Emma? Oh no! Dun dun dun

**A/N: Yeah ... I got some bad news. I don't think I'm going to continue with this story. Like I mentioned before, I'm writing this story on FictionPress as a zombie fic, and it's really actually coming out not too bad over there. I'm more of a true blue zombie fan than a talk-on-the-cell-phone-and-bit-people-but-they-don't-turn fan.**

**Already over there the story has taken several different turns - for instance, the only person alive is Emma. Or so she thinks.**

**I might update every now and then, you know, post a chapter ... but ... yeah. I don't really like the way this version of the story turned out. Oh well. Nice try, anyway.**

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"Okay, now what do we do?" I asked.

We looked at each other. Bri had left her purse in the bathroom, so no phone there. Ash's cell was lying in roughly a million purple pieces on the ground. I looked at Ryan.

"Do you – " I began.

"Have you got – " he started to ask.

Everyone sighed.

"Okay, so no cell phones," I said. "Now what? What do we do?"

"I got an idea," Bri crowed. "Let's real quick run up to the front office. Before MoleMan and them girls come back."

Well, it was as good a plan as any. No point in staying in the room.

"Okay," Ash said. "Ryan'll go first, then me and Em – "

"What?!" he yelped. "Why me?"

She looked at him impatiently. "Because you're the guy."

He grumbled but opened the door and cautiously stuck his head out. "All clear," he muttered.

The four of us crept out into the hallway. I wasn't really surprised that no one was out. Our school was pretty small – barely four hundred students for a middle _and _high school. And none of them wanted to stay after the last bell, which rang at 2:10 pm.

As for the teachers, well, they were probably in the lounge smokin' … and not cigarettes, either.

We made our way down the corridor and turned into the main hallway. Ryan stopped sharply and Ash walked into him.

"Hey," she exclaimed, "what's with the - oh … "

There were three people on the ground. No, not people. _Bodies. _I recognized one as the middle school guidance counselor. Someone had stuck a pencil into her eye. Number 2, of course.

The other two were students that I had never met, but had seen around school grounds frequently. The girl's neck had been turned all the way around. The boy had deep, vicious claw marks in his stomach. Guts were strewn all around his body.

There was a wet retching sound behind me, and I turned faintly around to see Bri holding her stomach, bent over and puking her – well, her guts out.

Ash screamed then, long and loud. And as she did, I heard a shuffling off to my left.

I turned and saw Mr. Hawkins, the P.E. coach. He was a huge man – black, six and a half feet, tall, probably weighed as much as a hippo.

And he was headed straight for us.

"Coach!" Ryan cried out, dazedly. "Coach, what's going on?"

The big man looked at him for a moment, and then rushed him.

He picked Ryan up by the neck as easily as if the seventeen year old had been a plastic doll. He smashed Ryan's head repeatedly against the wall. Blood and something else – something _gray_ – flew out in a wide arc.

I shrieked and ran. I had barely taken two steps when I turned around, grabbed Ash by the wrist, and dragged her with me. Honestly, that girl would've stood there even if a tiger had gotten loose and was mauling a senior citizen.

We fled down the hallway and as we got to the main part of the building, I turned right.

She turned left.

I was at the end of _this_ hallway when I turned around and realized what had happened.

"ASH!" I yelled. "This way!"

She turned around, saw her mistake, and started to come back. But as she came towards me, Mr. Hawkins burst out of nowhere.

He, of course, turned right. I never get any breaks.

I took off running and saw the teacher's bathroom up ahead. Unlike ours, it had a huge, heavy door – and a window. I made for it.

I jumped inside, pulling the door shut behind me. I didn't know if Mr. Hawkins had turned the corner yet and seen me. I leaned against the door, trying to catch my breath, looking out through the cracks.

And then I felt a hand grasp my leg. Oh, _shit_.


End file.
